


Synesthesia

by Alisienna



Series: The Wolf and the Swan [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Humor, F/M, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-23 19:10:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4888669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alisienna/pseuds/Alisienna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nira Lavellan has her life all planned out: she's going to continue her career in performing arts by producing ballet performances and teaching new dancers. It all goes a bit tits-up (in more ways than one!) when she takes an elective class in archaeology from the notorious Professor Solas Harel, known for his arrogant nostalgia as well as his brilliant discoveries in his field.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

“So, archaeology. What is it?”

The professor stood at the front of the class, arms crossed over his chest, his blue-grey eyes sweeping over the rows of seats peppered with students. When no one answered, he raised one eyebrow.

“Well, then. No one wishes to speak?”

A girl in the third row with long braided hair and glasses raised her hand. It shook slightly. “A more in-depth study of history?” she said, not so much giving an answer as asking another question.

The professor huffed. “Certainly not. History is the study of dry tomes conducted in stuffy libraries. Archaeology – while historical in nature – is altogether different.” His frown softened into a more wistful expression as he continued. “Visiting the sites of ancient battles, letting the artifacts re-enact the bloody past and tell tales of wars both ancient and forgotten. Seeing the care and time our fellow humans invested in preserving their nature, their culture, their beliefs, and respecting them as much as the beliefs of our own modern age.”

He paused, looking around the room once more. “The greatest danger for any archaeologist is believing that you – and your modern viewpoint – are better than the long-dead individuals whose remains you study. The greatest of us could not do half as much as the least of the ancients. We are blinded and hobbled by our arrogance, our dependence on technology. The ancients have much to teach us, if we would but listen.”

The professor’s voice rang out across the near-silent auditorium. “Chronological snobbery. A fitting term for our default attitude, coined by one who was himself not even a student of archaeology, but of literature.”

“C. S. Lewis,” a clear voice said from the middle rows of the auditorium.

The professor’s head turned, eyes searching for the student who had spoken, eyes wide and a grin forming on his lips. “Yes, it was. Someone in our class is well-read.”

“My mother read his books to me when I was child,” the voice said again. It belonged to a woman sitting in the back third of the auditorium, closer to the exit doors than to the floor. She was young, twenty-five or so, possessed of fine-boned features and long dark hair swept up in an unkempt bun at the back of her head. She adjusted her glasses on her nose as the professor squinted up at her and smiled faintly.

“Ah, it is not often one finds parents who care enough to read to their children anymore,” he said. “Even less often to find a child who listens.” He nodded in acknowledgement and returned to his lecture.

“Yes, chronological snobbery is the downfall of many who would study the past. So many assume that because we came later, we must be better, smarter, than our ancestors. Actually, the opposite is more often the case.”

“But, Professor, surely modern technology –“ one student tried to protest, but the professor cut him off with a sharp wave of his hand.

“Modern technology,” he sneered, “is of no use in the hands of the simple-minded, who utilize it only for their own convenience and not for the advancement of the race as a whole. The ancients were generally more intelligent, precisely because they had to invent solutions to their problems that did not involve pushing a few buttons on a keyboard.”

“Is it not possible,” the dark-haired woman from before said loudly, “that you are mistaken, and the assumption that the ancients – as you call them – were more intelligent is based on the fact their accomplishments were the only ones to survive long enough for us to study? Could it not be, then, that the ancients had just as many simple-minded as we do today, but the records are skewed?”

The professor’s eyes narrowed, and the slightest hint of pink showed high on his deeply tanned cheeks. “Anything is possible, certainly. But the evidence does not bear that out.”

“Or, your assumption that convenience does not equal advancement is flawed. Is not the goal of civilization to make life easier for everyone to live?”

The professor’s brow furrowed in consternation. “One could make that argument, I suppose. The fact remains that most who study history do so with the attitude that they are smarter than the people they are studying, without accounting for the fact that situations look much different in hindsight. Mistakes that appear to be easy to avoid only appear that way because we have more information. My point,” he continued, tone flat, “is that students must strive to avoid such an attitude. Debates on the merits of technology are not the purview of this class.”

The woman stared at him for a few moments, tapping her foot on the floor in front of her. Then she shrugged, and turned her face away from him. Satisfied that he would receive no further interruptions, the professor continued.

“So, this semester, as we scratch the surface of the most prestigious and rewarding of all the historical disciplines, keep in mind that the people you will see and read about had experiences and feelings and intelligence equal to or greater than your own. Their stories, however old and obscure, inform our stories, and to understand ourselves, we must first understand them.”

He straightened and pushed his wire-frame glasses further up his nose. “My name is Professor Solas Harel, and welcome to my class.”


	2. Growsome

Nira’s computer gave the soft _bing-bong_ noise that alerted her of an incoming email. She arched an eyebrow when the notification told her who it was from.

_From:_ [ _sharel@uoc.edu_ ](mailto:sharel@uoc.edu)

_To:_ [ _nlavellan@uoc.edu_ ](mailto:nlavellan@uoc.edu)

_Subject: FW: Archeological Fellowship Opportunities 2015_

_Attached: UoC Arch Fellow Info.pdf; UoC Arch Fellow App.pdf_

_Ms. Lavellan:_

_I have noted your recent attentiveness in class, and was impressed by your work on the mid-term paper. Your research into the somewhat obscure aspects of the daily lives of the Egyptian people was very thorough. Even more remarkable were the connections you drew between those daily practices and their religious beliefs. It seems you possess a focus of purpose that is indomitable – at least when writing a report._

_I would be most interested to see if that focus exists outside the realm of standard academia. If you would care to study these aspects of Egyptian culture more closely, these fellowships would be a fantastic chance. I myself am running the six-month program this term. Should you apply, your acceptance would be assured._

_Please feel free to reach out to me if you would like guidance for your academic career, or if you would care to discuss these fellowships in person._

_Sincerely,_

_S. F. Harel, PhD Egyptology_

_Head, UoC Archeological Studies Department_

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Nira murmured after she finished reading, sitting back in her desk chair. She tapped her fingers over her keyboard, considering. Professor Harel had never seemed that interested in what she’d had to say in class, but she must’ve misread the situation.

Although, now that she examined her memories, she did notice that he had always been quick to answer when she’d asked a question, and had even praised her for some of her more in-depth queries. She especially remembered him being near-giddy – for him, anyway – when she’d questioned the assumptions in the text books. Apparently, she’d made more of an impression than she had thought.

So, now the question was, how to answer?

_From:_ [ _nlavellan@uoc.edu_ ](mailto:nlavellan@uoc.edu)

_To:_ [ _sharel@uoc.edu_ ](mailto:sharel@uoc.edu)

_Subject: Re: FW: Archeological Fellowship Opportunities 2015_

_Professor:_

_Thank you for your kind words. I appreciate your interest in my studies. I regret to inform you that I am not planning on pursuing a career in academia at this time, and definitely not one in archeology. I am happy with my current situation, and needed your class to fill an elective requirement for my Masters of Arts in Performing Arts Administration, which I shall complete next semester._

_Again, I appreciate the compliments, and I have enjoyed your class immensely._

_Thank you._

_Nira Lavellan_

Nira huffed out a breath, mouse hovering over the ‘send’ button as she checked the wording once more to make sure it struck the right note of appreciation and respectful declination. She frowned at the screen, then clicked the mouse button a bit harder than was probably necessary to send the reply.

Nira shoved her hands back through her dark hair, then got up. She needed tea. Tomorrow’s business management exam wouldn’t study for itself, and she still had pages of notes to sift through.

Steaming mug in hand, Nira sat back down at her desk and raised her eyebrows. There was another new email in her inbox. She clicked her phone on to check the time: 12:34 a.m. Well, it seemed the professor kept late hours.

  _From:_[ _sharel@uoc.edu_](mailto:sharel@uoc.edu)

_To:_ [ _nlavellan@uoc.edu_ ](mailto:nlavellan@uoc.edu)

_Subject: Re: Re: FW: Archeological Fellowship Opportunities 2015_

_Miss Lavellan:_

_I hope it will not seem too forward of me, but I think you should seriously consider your options for your future. It is rare for me to question the decisions of my students, but it is still rarer for me to find a student as intelligent and insightful as yourself. I believe you would do well at UoC, and would enjoy the work immensely, if the passion you displayed in your paper is any indication._

_Please consider meeting me to discuss this in person. I am free most of tomorrow, if you have the time. If not, we can make other arrangements that would suit you._

_S. F. Harel, PhD Egyptology_

_Head, UoC Archeological Studies Department_

 

“Well, he’s persistent, isn’t he?” Nira said to herself. Her cat heard her voice and took it as invitation to ask for ear scratches, which Nira absently supplied when she jumped into her lap. “What about it, Bast? Should I meet him?” The cat’s response was to purr, concerned only with the movement of her fingers. Nira chuckled and sipped her tea. After a few moments, she shrugged, set the mug down, and began typing.

_From:_ [ _nlavellan@uoc.edu_ ](mailto:nlavellan@uoc.edu)

_To:_ [ _sharel@uoc.edu_ ](mailto:sharel@uoc.edu)

_Subject: Re: Re: Re: FW: Archeological Fellowship Opportunities 2015_

_Professor:_

_Well, I suppose there is no harm in meeting to discuss the fellowships. I make no promises, though. I’m nearing the end of a fairly lengthy course of study that I’ve been working on my entire life, and I am not keen on the idea of giving that up. But, I have been wrong before, so I am willing to listen._

_I have an exam in the morning, but I can meet after that. Is 11:00 a.m. alright for you? I usually have coffee after my Thursday class at the UoC campus café._

_Nira Lavellan_

“Okay, here goes nothing, Bast.” Nira clicked send and sat back, continuing to scratch the head of the cat in her lap. Less than a minute later, her computer _bing-bong_ -ed again. Nira shook her head and clicked the reply.

_From:_ [ _sharel@uoc.edu_ ](mailto:sharel@uoc.edu)

_To:_ [ _nlavellan@uoc.edu_ ](mailto:nlavellan@uoc.edu)

_Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: FW: Archeological Fellowship Opportunities 2015_

_Miss Lavellan:_

_11:00 a.m. is fine._

_S. F. Harel, PhD Egyptology_

_Head, UoC Archeological Studies Department_

 

“Pfft. Not a particularly loquacious gentleman, is he, Bast?” Nira eyed her stack of notes, and sighed. The cat _mrowed_ in protest as she stood, leaping onto the desk and then bounding over to her favorite resting place atop the back of the couch, eyeing Nira with feline indignation.

“Bloody cat,” Nira muttered, and went to bed, giving up on studying further. Long experience as a student told her that as distracted as she was it would do no good. At this point, she’d pass, or she wouldn’t.

Sleep didn’t come easily, though, as she found she couldn’t quite put the enigmatic professor out of her mind.

****

The rain came down in a drizzle, just enough to get everyone wet and annoyed but not enough to drive everyone inside. The sidewalks on campus were still fairly crowded as the ten-thirty classes opened their doors and students poured out onto the grounds, heads down and arms locked over their over-priced-and-therefore-precious textbooks. The commons became a sea of backpacks, messenger bags, and umbrellas, the normal din of students shouting to their friends and those ingrates who insisted on being on bikes obnoxiously dinging their handlebar bells muted somewhat by the rain.

Nira shouldered her way across the grounds, heading for the warm refuge offered by her favorite coffee shop. She told herself it was her favorite because it served the best coffee, but that was only half-true. More important was its location: close to her classes, and a few blocks away from her just-off-campus apartment. Although she kept herself dancing fit, Nira hated walking any more than absolutely necessary.

The bell above the door chimed to announce her entry, and she was greeted by the familiar smell of coffee beans and baking pastries. Nira smiled when she saw her favorite barista was at work today. A skinny young man in his early twenties, he had trouble keeping his long, unkempt blond hair out of his eyes, but this in no way impeded his ability to make her favorite drinks.

“Hey, Cole,” she greeted him warmly. She took off her glasses and began to clean the drizzle off the lenses with her shirttail. “How goes it?”

Cole shrugged and grabbed a large coffee cup and began marking it. “I’m here, I guess. Where I’m supposed to be.” He eyed her from behind his bangs. “The usual?”

“You know it,” Nira replied, squinting at her glasses lenses before putting them back on. “And don’t put yourself down like that. You’ll get out of here someday, I’m sure of it.”

Cole shrugged again and began working the espresso machine. “I didn’t mean it like that, exactly. I kind of like it here.”

“Uh-huh. I can tell. By how often you smile.” Nira’s tone was sardonic, but her smile made her teasing obvious.

Cole answered by pasting an obviously fake, leering grin on his face. “Does this help?” he said through his teeth.

“Yeah, that’s better,” she said, through her laughter.

Cole smiled for real then. “I like it when you laugh. It’s nice. You don’t do it enough.”

Nira’s brow furrowed. “What’s that mean?”

Another shrug. “You’re so focused all the time, you don’t laugh much. It’s not good for you.” He passed her coffee across the counter, holding up a hand to forestall her pulling out her wallet. “On the house, today.”

“Thanks, I think,” Nira said, taking a sip. She moaned in pleasure. “Perfect, as always, Cole.”

He nodded and began wiping down the counter. “Glad I could help.” His tone made it obvious he was done talking. Nira shook her head and went to find a table. She liked him, but Cole was just plain _weird_ sometimes.

She chose a table near one of the plate glass windows that made up one entire wall of the shop. Nira liked to watch the people rush by while she enjoyed her coffee, and the bustle of their movement provided a nice backdrop while she studied, a kind of visual ‘white-noise’ that helped her concentrate. She pulled her phone out of her bag and set it on the table, checking the time. Still a few minutes before eleven; there might be enough time to get some reading done while she waited.

“I hope I am not late.”

The voice startled her out of her reading and she dropped the highlighter she’d been holding in her mouth. “Oh, no, sorry. I was early.”

The professor arched an eyebrow but made no comment. “I see you have already gotten yourself a drink, would you like anything to eat? It is nearly lunchtime.”

Nira looked up at him, squinting. He was the picture of studious nonchalance, standing comfortably a respectable distance from her, but still close enough to be heard even if he spoke softly. Everything about him, from his polished loafers to his pressed twill pants to his . . . incongruous hairstyle bespoke a man who took pride in his appearance while simultaneously communicating that he did not care what anyone thought of him. For the first time, Nira noticed his eyes – narrow, heavy-lidded, and a soft slate blue-grey color she didn’t recall seeing on anyone else. They made a nice contrast with his deeply tanned skin and dark brown hair, held back from his face in the long dreadlocks he favored. His expression, which had been mild, now turned to slight amusement as he waited for her answer.

“Uh, no, I’m fine, thanks,” Nira stammered finally, realizing she’d been staring.

He nodded, but made no comment at her awkward behavior. “A moment, then, please.” He walked over to the counter and placed an order. Nira put her book and highlighter away, surreptitiously watching him while he waited for his coffee. Her dancer’s mind allowed her to appreciate that his movements were oddly graceful, measured, efficient. He neither attempted to minimize them, nor expended more energy in unnecessary flamboyance. He smiled at Cole when he took his cup, and left a five-dollar bill in the tip jar. Kind, polite, as well as generous.

Where the hell had Professor Hard-Ass disappeared to?

“So, this is the first time I’ve seen you outside class,” Nira said when he’d sat down at her table.

Professor Harel raised an eyebrow in question as he sipped his drink.

“Where did Professor Hard-Ass wander off to?”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, come on. You must know that’s what your students call you, right?”

The professor took another sip, made an absolutely disgusted face, and set the cup down. “I did have an inkling they did not like me much, yes, but I was unaware of the nickname.”

“Oh, I got that one started myself,” Nira said, beaming at him. She gestured to his cup. “Not to your taste? I’m sure Cole will make you another.”

“No, he would not be able to improve it,” Professor Harel said. “It is tea. I detest the stuff.”

“Then why drink it?”

“My doctor encourages me to do so. She holds that it will improve my health.” He eyed the cup with suspicion. “I am…unsure of the correctness of such a statement.”

“Okie dokie, then,” Nira said. She reached up and pushed her bangs out of her eyes. “So, go on with the sales pitch, then.”

He chuckled. “I am not here to sell you anything, Miss Lavellan.”

“No?”

“No. Merely to let you know how serious I am about your potential.”

Nira squinted at him. “Okay, look. I’m a dancer. Ballet, and yeah I’ve heard all the jokes so keep ‘em to yourself. I’ve been dancing since I was old enough to wear shoes. I live it. I _breathe_ it. I don’t perform myself anymore, but I teach. And I want to be involved in production. I’m one semester away from getting a degree that will let me do just that.” She paused to take a drink of her coffee. “I tell you all of that to hopefully keep you from wasting your time. Well, any more of it, anyway.”

Professor Solas cocked his head to one side, considering her. Nira pushed her glasses further up her nose and took another drink, waiting.

“Well,” he said slowly. “You seem to have your mind made up.”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“That,” he said, words very precise, “is a mistake.”

“Excuse me?”

“Even if you were not possessed of the potential to make an excellent archeologist, your chosen career would leave you in a position to be little better than a pet housewife.”

Nira’s cheeks colored with anger. “ _What_ did you just say to me?”

“I do not believe I need to repeat myself,” he replied calmly, sipping his tea and grimacing at the taste.

“Well, there’s the asshole we’re all used to,” Nira said. “You know, you suck at convincing people to do things.”

“Possibly. And yet you did agree to meet.”

“Because you obviously weren’t going to leave me alone if I didn’t!” Nira sputtered. “And now when I am here, you belittle me and my choice of career?”

The professor held up a hand to forestall her. “Merely stating a fact. Most who pursue degrees in similar fields end up either working jobs that have nothing to do with what they educated themselves for, or – more likely – marrying rich and raising children.”

Nira fumed, unable to even reply.

“I am not saying there is anything wrong with either of those things” – Nira snorted – “but you would be wasted doing them.”

“Well, I suppose that’s as close as you can get to a compliment.”

“If you are uninterested, or think yourself incapable of completing the program –“

“Oh, it’s not that. I would chew your _program_ up and spit it back out. And love every minute of it.”

Professor Solas smiled softly and pulled a folded bundle of papers out of his inside jacket pocket. “Here is a copy of the application. Do not worry about the essay portion; your paper from my class will suffice for that requirement.”

Nira stared at him. “How are you so _arrogant?_ ” she wondered aloud.

Professor Solas shrugged. “It’s not arrogance if I’m right.” He pulled a ten dollar bill out of his pocket and dropped it on the table next to the application. “For your coffee, and your consideration.”

Nira continued staring at him as he left the café, mouth agape. She looked down at the application, huffed out a breath, and shoved it into her bag before leaving herself.


	3. Wiff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Open my mind   
> Feed me some scraps for thought open my mind   
> Till I arrive   
> Save all epiphanies till I arrive   
> \--Blue Gillespie, "Wiff"

“Bloody Christ!”

“Sera! Keep your voice down?”

“But that’s a bloody fucking _dinosaur,_ Nira!” Sera skipped over to Sue, the enormous Tyrannosaurus Rex skeleton hanging in the main lobby of the museum. The girlish movement made an interesting contrast with her heavy eyeliner, ripped jeans, and kitchen-shear haircut. Sera posed next to the dinosaur’s skull, holding up two fingers and waggling her tongue as she took a selfie.  

“Bloody brilliant!” she squealed, coming over to show Nira the picture. “This is going to _blow up_ on my Instagram!”

“Great, glad I could help,” Nira said, grinning at her friend. “Now, come on, I really do have to turn this in today or I’m fucked.”

“Right, right…do I get to meet Professor Broody-Face?”

“What?”

“’What’, she says, all innocent,” Sera teased, rolling her eyes. “You haven’t shut up about him since you started here, for months it’s been ‘oooo Professor Broody this’ and ‘he’s so smart that.’”

“I haven’t been –“

“OOOO, RAPTORS!” Sera ran off to the other side of the pre-historic exhibit and began snapping more pictures.

Nira shook her head, knowing it was useless to try to stop Sera once she’d got started, but figuring she couldn’t do _that_ much damage in two minutes. She headed toward the back of the lobby, towards the service door that led to the labyrinthine corridors of offices and workspaces used by the students and museum staff. The security guard posted by the door held up a hand.

“Sorry, ma’am, no public access beyond this point.”

“Oh, sorry, um…I need to drop something off with Professor Harel? Hang on, I have a pass, somewhere…” Nira’s voice trailed off as she dug through her purse – _why do I carry this damn thing?_ – “I just started working for him, but mostly on campus, only been here once or twice -- Ah!” she pulled out the tiny laminated card and held it up triumphantly. “Here you go.”

The guard took the card from her and examined it. “ID?” he asked, voice bored.

“Oh, right. One sec…”

“Nira, you should control your …guest.”

Nira spun to see Professor Harel standing behind her, holding a sheepish-looking Sera by one arm.

“Oh, don’t be a bully, Professor,” she said, grabbing Sera’s hand and pulling her to her side. “She can’t do much harm.”

“She was attempting to climb the barricades to the raptor display,” he said dryly. “Meryl worked for two weeks getting that set just so. You know how she gets about these things.”

Nira raised an eyebrow at Sera, who shrugged. “I’m Insta-famous. I have a reputation to maintain,” she said.

“Sorry, Professor,” Nira said. She held out the jump drive she’d been meaning to leave in the in-tray on his desk. “Here’s the info you wanted, and my notes. All the info I could find, anyways.”

“You certainly took your time,” Solas commented as he took the drive from her.

Nira flushed. “You know, it’s not like you can just Google ‘ancient Egyptian pottery shards’ and come up with reliable research information.” She adjusted the bag on her shoulder. “Besides, I had exams.”

“If you cannot juggle research and regular coursework, then perhaps I misjudged you.”

“Pfft. You know I got that to you a full week before you expected. You’re just busting my ass to make me work harder.”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Perhaps. My thanks.” Solas nodded at Sera. “It was… _nice_ to meet you, Sera.”

Sera groaned as he walked away towards the door to the offices. “Really, Nira?”

“What?”

“ _That’s_ what you’ve been all hot and bothered about for months?”

Nira felt herself flushing again. “I am _not_ ‘hot and bothered.’”

“Oh, riiiiiight. Mm-hmm. Sure.”

“Sera, seriously. He’s way too old for me, for one. For two, he’s my direct supervisor, head of my new department, and the lead advisor on my Ph.D. research board.”

“And you want to bone him.” Sera waggled her eyebrows suggestively. “Forbidden fruit always tastes sweetest, or something like that, innit?”

Nira rolled her eyes. “I am not repeating myself. Let’s go before you break something.”

**************

 

 

Nira sighed and moved her glasses up to rest on her head, rubbing her probably-bloodshot eyes. Hours of research and she was still nowhere close to completing her thesis proposal. She had to turn something in soon, or risk missing out on the funding she would need to complete her field experience requirement, which would force her to delay her program for another year.

Clicking on her phone screen to check the time, Nira saw she had missed a text from Professor Solas.

_Still in the library?_

_Yeah, hitting a wall._

_Usual table?_

_Yes, why??_

_I’m about to head over from the café. Want anything?_

_Really?_

_Yes?_

_You’re bringing me coffee?_

_If I know you at all, you need it._

_Okay, then. Not gonna argue. Cole there?_

_He is._

_Tell him “Christmas in a cup.” He’ll know what I mean._

_And…thank you. :)_

_You are welcome._

Nira arched an eyebrow at her phone. He was being _nice_. This was…well, actually now that she considered it, it wasn’t unusual at all. He’d never been less than polite with her, and had been invaluable in helping her transition from her previous program. _Maybe he’s lonely. I’ve never seen him with anyone, not even a friend_.

That realization made her sad. He was incredibly intelligent, and thoughtful, and kind. That kind of person should have no shortage of friends. Of course, as she well knew, that kind of person was also the most likely to be taken unawares. Nira shook her head and went back to reading, trying to bury those memories under the weight of ancient Egyptian minutiae.

She looked up when a cup was placed on the table before her, steam trailing out of the tiny hole in the lid. Nira snatched it up and lifted the lid, groaning in pleasure at the smell of the hot liquid inside.

“So what is ‘Christmas in a cup’?” Solas asked, taking a seat opposite her at the table.

“Mmmm,” Nira said, taking a careful sip. “It’s perfection. Vanilla chai latte with mint syrup.”

“That sounds disgusting.”

“I know, right? But once you try it, you never want anything else when it snows.”

Solas made a face. “You like tea, then?”

“I do, on occasion. Why?” Nira’s eyes lit with mirth as she remembered their first conversation. “Oh, right, you ‘detest the stuff.’” She lowered her voice as she quoted him in a teasing mockery of his serious tone.

Solas’ lips twitched in wry amusement. “As I recall, you preferred coffee that day.”

“Well, I like both. Is that not allowed?”

“Most people pick one or the other,” he replied.

“I’m not most people,” Nira said primly, and took another sip.

Solas regarded her seriously. “No, you are not,” he said, quietly.

Nira froze, suddenly aware of how hard he was staring at her. “Um, what?”

He blinked and seemed to shake himself out of his reverie. “It was nothing, excuse me.” He nodded towards her pile of books and papers. “How goes the research?”

Nira sighed. “Hit a wall, like I said. There’s a site I think I’d like to examine in more detail, but I don’t know if it will be enough to build an entire thesis on.”

“Sometimes less is more, Nira. Show me what you are considering.”

Nira tugged a printed photograph out of a stack of papers to her left. “Well, I noticed this inscription -- or what might be the beginning of a full relief? – On a wall in this site in el-Amarna. The workers who found it originally thought it was just a house, probably of a tradesman or a low merchant, but if it has frescos, it might have been the home of someone important.”

“Let me see,” Solas said, walking around to her side of the table and pulling his glasses out of his jacket pocket. He stood behind her as he examined the picture, leaning over the back of her chair. Nira stiffened, somewhat unnerved by his sudden closeness. He was wearing some kind of aftershave or cologne, some mix of exotic spice and musk that she found she rather liked. The side of his face was only inches from hers, and she noticed – really noticed -- for the first time the strong line of his jaw and the sharpness of his cheekbones that contributed to the overall harshness of his face.

_Harsh, but not unpleasant. Not unpleasant at all._

“I believe you may be on the right track with this,” he said, startling her.

Nira took a fortifying sip of her latte to cover her flinch. “Really?”

“Yes, from what we can see of the edge of that relief, it is likely elaborate. This structure may not have even been a residence. I also think there is a good chance this was built during the reign of Akhenaten, considering its location and the style of the carving.”

“Right…the Aten cult led to more realistic drawing styles that are pretty different from older artworks. I should have seen that.”

“You are talented at putting pieces together, Nira, but it takes practice to find those pieces,” Solas said. “You are doing well.”

Nira felt her cheeks redden. “Thank you, Professor.”

“Write your proposal. You and I can present it to the board next week. I believe we should be able to secure the funding you need to spend enough time in the field to document your research.”

“You’re going to present with me?”

Solas nodded. “Of course, you are my student.” He smiled, then, genuine humor coloring his tone. “I did get you into this, after all.”

Nira snorted. “Yeah, you did. Turned my whole life upside down for you, you know.”

“I shall try to be worthy of your sacrifice, then.” Solas checked his watch. “I have a class. Let me know if you need help writing.”

Nira nodded and watched him walk away. She took another sip of her latte, cool enough now that she could actually fully enjoy the taste. She felt overly warm for January in the Midwest, but whether that was due to the chai or company, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

*****

Two weeks later, Nira’s phone buzzed with her message alert.

_The board just called my office. They approved your proposal._

_Really? AWESOME!!_

_There is a catch, however._

_Uh oh. What?_

_Do you own any formal dresses?_

**Author's Note:**

> Modern AU twist on the Solavellan relationship from Dragon Age: Inquisition. Nira Lavellan belongs to Elegantnanners. Any art posted by Therussetsparrow. Part One of an at-present two part series. Work title and chapter titles taken from the album "Synesthesia" by the band Blue Gillespie. Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoy it as much as I am enjoying writing it. Comments are appreciated! Visit my blog alisienna.tumblr.com for teaser posts, updates, and other goodies!


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